Scratched
by waterbaby134
Summary: A sequel to 'It Takes A Village.' In New York for an NYPD fundraiser, an engaged Jane and Lisbon join newlyweds Castle and Beckett once more to solve a DJ's murder.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hi guys. I've been off the FF scene for a while due to several factors including a crippling case of writer's block. I have three unfinished oneshots on my computer right now that in a word, suck, and aren't worthy of human sight. So in the grand tradition of authors, I've instead decided to rehash an old fic that I probably should have left well enough alone (It Takes A Village) and write a sequel.**

**This story is set in an undetermined time period after season 3 of both shows, and I suppose it's probably a bit AU. Rating is T. Pairings are the obvious. I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

Movie nights were a serious business at the New York high-rise apartment affectionately known by its inhabitants as 'Chez Castle.' After all, one didn't purchase a state-of-the-art home entertainment system and then not make the most of it.

Kate stretched luxuriously on the soft couch and grabbed a handful of popcorn. A DVD of a family favourite 'Forbidden Planet' was primed and ready to go, and a glass of red wine within easy reach on the coffee table. She had to admit; this was way better than going out to the cinema. There were no crowds, no set times, and the refreshments were free.

"Honey?"

The disconsolate voice of Richard Castle drifted through the apartment, breaking her peaceful silence.

"I'm in here," she called back softly, and heard his heavy footsteps begin to approach. Soon, he reached her, his cell phone in hand, staring at it as though it might disappear, should he take his eyes off it. She shifted aside, and he sank onto the couch beside her, slipping an arm around her waist with a deep sigh.

"Is it too early to call her?" he asked.

"Yes," Kate said gently, pressing a firm kiss to his cheek. "She said she'd call _us_, remember?"

'But what if something's happened to her?" he protested. "What if something's gone terribly wrong? My baby…out there all alone."

"Castle, it's college, not an expedition to the Alps," she said, patiently. "Alexis is the smartest kid I know. She'll be fine."

It had been a big year for the Castle family, beginning with their wedding nine months previously, followed by the grand opening of Martha's acting school, the release of Castle's 28th best-selling novel, and now Alexis, leaving the nest and off to college.

Nine months since she and Castle had become husband and wife in front of 300 guests, only about 50 of which they actually knew well. Nine months since she'd ceased to feel like she was alone in the world, had found her 'one and done.'

Mrs Castle. Kate Castle. It still sounded alien to her. Even now, she continued to address herself as Kate Beckett at work. Rick didn't mind. He said that she was a Castle where it counted.

But today, their household had been reduced by one member as Alexis had packed her bags and moved out. Castle had managed to keep up a façade of eagerness and excitement as they'd all helped to pack up her things, and he'd only held on slightly too long when the time came to say goodbye. However, the moment the door had closed behind his daughter, his smiles and good humour vanished, and the misery set in.

"I want her back, Kate," he said now. "I want my baby back. She can do all her work by correspondence. I'll even give her my office if that's what she needs."

"What she needs is to go out into the world, Castle," she pointed out, reasonably. "To stand on her own two feet. And you need to let her."

"I should have gone with her; helped to settle her in-"

"If you'd done that, it would've been even harder for you to say goodbye. And anyway, it's not like we're never going to see her again. She'll come and visit, even if just to mooch dinner off us, like I used to when I was in college."

He smiled a tiny bit, and she was glad he seemed to be cheering up at last. She'd always known that the separation from Alexis was going to be difficult for him, but it was slightly disconcerting to see how hard it had truly hit. She wondered idly if her own parents had been this way after she'd left home.

"Got any more stories about your college years, honey?" he asked, with sudden interest. "Preferably of the salacious variety?"

She giggled, as the familiar glint reappeared in his blue eyes.

"Oh, hundreds," she said. "Come on, let's watch the movie and afterwards I might tell you some."

"You're going to make me wait?" he whined. "Seriously?"

She put a hand on his thigh and squeezed. "I'm building suspense. I thought you of all people Mr Bestselling Author, would know all about that."

He leaned toward her and captured her lips in a brief, but passionate kiss. He drew her against him until she lay on his chest, feeling his heartbeat quickening, and his fingers brushing against her neck.

"Suspense is great in a mystery novel Kate, but in real life, I think it's seriously overrated. I had quite enough of it over all those years of chasing you." He kissed her again, grunting in displeasure, when she broke it off almost instantly.

"Even so," she said, pressing a button on the remote. "Movie first."

He frowned, but complied, wrapping his arm around her again as she snuggled into his side.

After about ten minutes however, it dawned on her that 'Forbidden Planet' hadn't been the greatest choice. Yes, it was one of their favourites, and yes it held a special place in her heart as the film she and Castle had gone to see on their first unofficial 'date.' Unfortunately, she'd forgotten it was also a film he and Alexis used to watch together a lot; therefore it wasn't surprising when his thoughts drifted again to his daughter.

"Who's going to play laser tag with me now?" he said, quietly, almost to himself, as Leslie Nielson's spaceship landed on the planet of Altair IV. "And how am I supposed to have kick-ass lightsaber battles without an opponent?"

She supposed she could offer herself as laser-tag and lightsaber fighter, but it would hardly have been the point. It wasn't about Voltar ruling the omniverse, or being the first to five hundred he was lamenting, it was the vast reduction of time he could spend with Alexis. For a long time, all they'd had was each other. Martha had moved in, and then she herself had come along, but the bond between father and daughter had remained as strong as ever. Castle seemed to feel that now she was out of the house all that would be over. She knew that would never happen. Alexis idolised him, adored him, and always had. That wasn't going to change.

She'd never been as close to her own father in her teenage years, at least not until they'd lost her mom. It was only after she somehow managed to pull him out of the grip of alcoholism his grief had driven him into that they really, truly, connected. She'd never dreamed that she might have a real family again; she'd thought it would just be her and her dad for the rest of their days. Instead, she'd wound up a bonafide member of the Castle clan.

This loft had felt like home long before the day she moved in here. Countless nights had been spent here, dinners, drinks, analyses of tricky cases that carried on long into the night, and that was before they'd started dating. She moved in after they'd been together two months, and had never once regretted it. Sure, some people thought it was a little fast, but they'd wasted enough time finding each other. They had a life to start living.

The front door unlocked and in sailed her mother-in-law, fresh from a day of tutoring the young hopefuls at her acting school. Kate thought that this new business venture was doing Martha the world of good. She said it felt good to use her skills again after so long in retirement.

"I'm sorry, Mother," her son had quipped, after she made this proclamation. "At what point did the drama in your life _ever_ stop?"

"Hello darlings," she greeted them, in a swirl of diamonds, animal print, and Chanel No. 5. "Oh, I had the most _terrible_ day at school today. One of my students got cast as an understudy in Wicked."

Kate and Rick exchanged glances. She could almost hear him thinking '_don't ask, don't ask_," but curiosity got the better of her, and she just couldn't help herself.

"But Martha," she began, ignoring her husband's frantic headshakes and the slicing motion he was making with his hand across his throat. "That's wonderful!"

"Yes, I suppose so," she replied, waving an airy hand. "But they interviewed her for the Ledger, and she didn't even _mention_ what school she came from." She sighed. "Actors. They get the smallest taste of success and then they forget about the people who got them there. The people who taught them, nurtured them-"

"I'm sure she didn't do it on purpose," said Kate.

"Oh Kate." Martha shook her head almost pityingly. "You don't know actors the way I do. They're ruthless, and they'll do anything to get ahead."

"Yes, I'm sure when she was offered the role the first thing she was thinking was 'how can I use this experience to inconvenience Martha Rodgers?'" chimed in Castle, rolling his eyes.

"Snort if you will, Richard, but we'll see if you're still laughing when the school goes bankrupt and I start spending all day here again."

Castle paled, and Kate clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter.

"Did Alexis get off OK?" asked Martha, her indignation turning to concern as her son's face fell even further. "I could have taken the day off, but she insisted that I didn't."

"Oh, you know," said Castle, with a miserable attempt at breeziness. "Packing, arguments, tears…mostly mine," he admitted. "I can't believe she's gone."

"Have you called her yet?"

"I can't. I promised her I wouldn't."

Just then, Castle's cell phone, set on the armrest of the couch, burst to life. His eyes lit up when he saw the caller ID.

"It's Alexis!" He put the phone to his ear in a rush. "Hi sweetheart, is everything OK?"

Martha smiled a little to herself as Castle became engrossed in his phone conversation.

"What is it?" Kate asked her.

"Oh nothing really, this just reminds me of something."

"What?" asked Kate again, as Castle strode around the apartment, beaming, and with more animation then he'd had all day.

"Well, darling, this is the way he used to look when you called. Back before you were together."

Kate blushed. "Really?"

"Oh, yes. Even if you'd spent the whole day together, he'd see your picture flash up on his cell and his eyes would light up just like that. Alexis and I had never seen anything like it."

"He never told me that," she admitted, quietly, feeling a sudden rush of affection for her husband. She knew he'd loved her long before she had been in any kind of headspace to love him back and he had waited a long time for her to get her act together. But she was so very grateful that he had.

"There's a lot of little things like that he hasn't told you," said Martha, fondly. "I could give you a hundred examples."

"Really?"

Martha smiled at her. "Who do you think he poured his heart out to every time you two had one of your little spats?" She reached for a glass and the bottle of red wine and poured herself a generous helping. "Oh, Richard and I spent many a night discussing you."

"Sorry," she said awkwardly. No doubt Martha had grown as weary of the constant dramas in those days as she had. Before they became a couple, she and Castle's relationship had never been stable. Instead it went up and down, up and down, like a rollercoaster, furious with each other one day and attached at the hip the next.

"Someone had to do it," said Martha, kindly. "It was a tough situation for him, with the woman he loved and his best friend being one and the same. He didn't really have anyone else to turn to."

She watched as Castle said a falsely cheerful goodbye to Alexis, and hung up the phone. "Letting Alexis go is the hardest thing my son has ever had to do," she said. "He's going to need you, Kate."

"I know."

For the longest time, Castle had been her number one means of support. From working through her mother's case to things as minor as small office arguments, he had always backed her 100%. And she had taken it all for granted. She treated his unwavering loyalty to her as a right, rather than a privilege, which had nearly ended them before they'd even begun, but she'd learned her lesson. She may not be perfect, but she loved this man with the kind of fierce intensity she used to think only existed in cheap paperback novels. He needed support right now. It was time to step up, and be the wife and the partner he deserved.

Her husband ambled over to them, looking thoroughly depressed. "Alexis sends her love. Apparently she and her roommate get along really well, and she can't wait to start classes." He sighed. "I guess a small part of me was hoping she'd hate it and want to come home. Stupid, right?"

Martha flicked a glance at Kate as if to say _"You're up."_

She knew what to do. She wrapped her arms around him, and felt him melt into her embrace. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Martha quietly retreating, leaving them alone.

"It's not stupid," she whispered. "I know this is hard for you, but it's the right thing to do. Besides, it's not like you're going to be on your own. Your mom will still be hovering in and out."

"Don't remind me," he said, and she chuckled.

"And you've still got me," she went on. "Always."

He squeezed her tighter. "Always."

"Come on," she said, when he let go. "Let's call Ryan and Esposito, and have them join us at the Old Haunt for a drink. We'll toast to Alexis' bright new future."

"And ours," he added, kissing her softly, before a grin crossed his face. "I guess it's true what they say about wives. Third time lucky."

She scowled. "Keep talking like that and I guarantee that you won't be getting lucky anytime soon."

"Lies, Detective. We both know that you can't keep your hands off me-"

"Excuse me, I wasn't the one who had the idea of doing it in the supply closet at the Old Haunt Christmas party," she said, with a smirk.

He smiled. "OK, I know the concept was a little clichéd, but in my defence, I was pretty drunk._ And_ you were wearing your red dress with the thigh-high split, and you _know_ what that does to me."

"You weren't drinking that much," she recalled. "Remember, we had the 12th party the next night and you didn't want to be hungover in front of Gates. Admit it, you just can't control yourself."

"I can too!"

"Fine," she said, moving closer to him, tilting her head towards his, but stopping just before their lips touched. "Prove it. I'm going to go change. Call the boys, and then we'll go. If you can't keep your hands to yourself until we get home, you have to help me with the paperwork on our next three cases."

"Fine," he said, closing the distance between them some more, but deliberately not touching her. She knew he was forcing himself not to by the way his fingers were twitching uncontrollably. "But if I win, when we get home you have to do whatever I want."

"Like what?" she asked, feigning innocence.

"Believe me, I'll think of something."

Pleased to see him in better spirits, she went off to change as he looked for his mother to give her an update on Alexis. In their bedroom, she riffled in the closet until she found the dress she was looking for. It was a deep, midnight blue, clingy, with a plunging neckline (she hadn't been so sure about that part, but Lanie had insisted she looked fabulous in it.) She'd been saving this particular dress for their anniversary, but suddenly, winning this bet took much higher precedence. After all, scoring points against each other had been part of their relationship since day one. And she could always buy another dress.

"The guys said they'll meet us there in twenty minutes," Castle shouted through the closed door. "Ready to go?"

"Almost." She slipped into the dress, matching shoes, and reapplied her makeup. Just before leaving, she spritzed on some Fracas, the perfume Castle had once said he was partial to.

Nobody said she had to play fair.

* * *

Was it possible to love somebody more than anything, and yet still feel an uncontrollable urge to kick his ass at the same time?

It was a familiar sight in the CBI to witness Teresa Lisbon storming through the bullpen in search of her consultant. People jumped out of her way when they saw one particular look in her eyes, a kind of 'seek and destroy' attitude, which was only ever aimed at Patrick Jane.

She reached the brown couch, only to find it empty. She spun around angrily and spotted Rigsby, who unconsciously shrank back a few inches.

"Where is he?" she demanded, hands on hips.

"Breakroom," her agent said, hurriedly. "Getting tea. He said he needed to recuperate."

"Recuperate," she snorted under her breath as she headed for the breakroom. "I'll give him something he'll really need to recuperate from."

She flung the door open to find him sitting there, nursing a cup of tea, eyes closed, as though he were some kind of Chinese yoga master, finding inner peace.

"Hello, Lisbon," he said, without moving a muscle. "Lovely weather we're having."

"I don't know, it's looking pretty stormy from where I'm sitting. I just had my ass handed to me by Bertram over last week's incident with Giles Maroney. You know, the one you tied to a chair in his own basement so he wouldn't spoil your big plan to trap his wife's killer."

Jane tilted his head, considering. "You know, I would've thought he'd be grateful that justice was done. That's modern society for you, everything's a law suit." He shook his head in mock-dismay, before looking up at her for the first time. "But I'm sure you managed to smooth things over, didn't you?"

She sighed, and dropped into a chair next to him.

"Yes, I did. With great effort."

He beamed at her. "Aren't we a great team?"

"Do you seriously not understand how difficult you make things for me? Why can't you just apologize to Maroney?"

"I have nothing to apologize for."

"You held him against his will, Patrick. That's an offence."

"I gave him perfectly adequate warning, and he wasn't even tied up that long. It was twenty minutes, tops. And," he added as an afterthought, "he punched me in the nose."

"You deserved it."

He took a long draught of the tea then put down his cup with a soft clink.

"The way I see it, I did wrong to him, and he did wrong to me. We're square."

"Not in the eyes of the law, you're not."

"Well, you know, Lisbon, the law and I just don't get on that well."

Lisbon knew there was little point in arguing this topic any further. When Jane made up his mind about something, getting him to change it was about as likely as Cho performing a dance routine on his desktop. Jane was a great detective and a generally brilliant man, but why did he always have to be so…damn…stubborn?

Eighty percent of the time, she adored her fiancé, but at times like this, she often found herself looking around for a suitable implement with which to throttle him.

Something changed in his expression, and the smugness disappeared. "I'm not sorry for what I did to Maroney," he said. "But I do apologise for making things hard for you, love. I know I make you deal with a lot more than you should."

She sighed again. "Apology accepted. But please, try and remember this conversation next time, preferably _before_ you start causing mayhem."

He reached for her hand, and ran his finger over her diamond engagement ring.

"I really wish you hadn't had this recut," he said. "Do you have any idea how long I spent picking it out for you?"

She looked down at it too, and smiled at the memory of him presenting it to her onstage in the middle of their friend Castle's wedding last August. Also the way she had berated him in front of everybody before finally saying yes. She knew a few of the onlookers had been horror-struck at the way she'd laid into him but she could tell by the look on his face that he'd loved every moment of it. Bickering was a cornerstone of their entire relationship. It was_ them_.

"Patrick, that rock was so big it could've been classified as a weapon."

He shrugged. "I bet some women would kill for a diamond knuckleduster."

"Maybe. But I'm not one of them."

She'd had the stone recut a few weeks after they'd returned to Sacramento, after becoming irritated beyond belief at being constantly harassed by the other women at work. When they weren't exclaiming over the size of the diamond, they were firing questions at her, non-stop. When was the wedding? Who was going to be her bridesmaid? What kind of flowers was she going to have? It just went on and on and on. It got to the point when she started to feel like she was becoming "Teresa Lisbon, Patrick Jane's fiancée,' as opposed to 'Teresa Lisbon, Senior Agent and human being." When she accepted his proposal, she was willing to stand by him and love him forever, but she'd never signed up for losing her own identity in the process.

It didn't take him long to figure out what she'd done. She knew the moment he noticed it, by the way his face fell faster than a dropping stone. He said he understood when she'd explained it to him, but at moments like this, she knew he was still a little upset about her decision.

He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it.

"I just wanted to give you the ring you deserved," he said. "I want the whole world to know you're mine."

She looked deep into his eyes. "The important thing is that _we_ know that. Everyone else can go to hell."

He chuckled, and then let her hand go.

"Want some coffee?" he asked her, noting her tired eyes, and the small yawn that escaped from her. It had been a long day for her, what with sorting out the Maroney debacle and filing all the paperwork from their most recent closed case, she'd barely even left her office today. He'd noticed that the days they spent at the Bureau seemed to exhaust her a lot more than ones out in the field. She just wasn't built for sitting around an office all day; she was happiest when she was running and shooting guns and kicking criminal ass.

He brought a cup over to her, and she accepted it gratefully, sipping it quickly so as to get the hit of caffeine as soon as possible. She seemed to be calming down now, and when she looked up at him again, she smiled for the first time since she'd entered the room.

"You know, that stuff is a drug of dependence," he said, as she polished off the cup.

"Well if I'm a junkie, then you are too," she said.

"Tea has many documented health benefits."

"Not the way you drink it. Sometimes I think your body must be about 25% tea."

"And what's the other 75%?" he asked, with interest.

"Hot air." She said it with almost a perfectly straight face, betrayed only by the tiniest little twinkle in her eye. If she hadn't expressly forbidden any such behaviour at the office, he'd have loved to kiss her right now. He compensated by shooting her the megawatt smile, which to his delight, still made her blush.

A lot had changed between them since they'd met, but he was glad that some things were still the same.

The door opened, and a couple of the guys from Organized Crime plodded in, and began jostling each other to get to the coffee machine first.

"Jane. Lisbon." Jeremy Kepner, who had lost the fight, inclined his head to both of them.

"Kepner," Lisbon greeted him. "How's things?"

"The usual. Drugs. Mobsters. Leads that go nowhere. Same old, same old."

The head of Organized Crimes, Drew Marley, turned to face them, holding his coffee and adding liberal amounts of sugar. "Actually, I was wondering if I might pass along the case file to you to look over," he said, addressing Jane. "We could use a fresh take on it. If you can spare him, of course?" he added, smiling warmly at Lisbon.

Jane's eyes narrowed. He'd never begrudged Marley his puppy-dog crush on his fiancée (at the very least, the man had excellent taste) but he'd probably like the guy a whole lot more if he'd transfer his affections elsewhere. Preferably onto someone available.

"I'm a little tied up at the moment," he lied.

"I get that you're busy," Marley persisted. "And believe me, if I were you I wouldn't be spending any more time in the office than I have to-" he cast another sidelong glance at Lisbon, "-but you could really help us out, and we're running out of ideas."

"It wouldn't kill you to do some actual work for once, Jane," Lisbon put in. "Maybe remind Bertram why he puts up with you."

He sighed, but relented. "Fine. Put a copy of the file on my desk."

Marley smiled. "Thanks. Much appreciated. And thank _you_, Agent Lisbon. You let me know if there's anything I can do for you." With another glowing smile, he led his team out of the breakroom.

"On your desk?" Lisbon said the moment they'd left. "You don't even have a desk anymore."

He grinned wickedly. "I know that, and you know that. But he doesn't, does he?"

She frowned at him. "You really don't have to be such a jerk, you know."

"I just wish he'd go find some other woman to pester. You're off the market. And we're definitely not inviting him to the wedding."

It was as if he'd fired a shot into the air at the last two words. Her whole body seemed to tense, and her eyes flashed.

He cursed himself for his idiotic slip of the tongue. Their upcoming nuptials were something of a touchy subject between them. He and Teresa had been engaged for nine months now, and still had yet to make any plans regarding their wedding. Every time they had tried to discuss it, they ended up in a huge argument and refused to speak to each other for days at a time. So far, they'd managed to disagree on everything from the date, ("I told you, Patrick, we can't have it that weekend, it's the CBI team leader's retreat! Yes of course I have to go to it this year, how would I look if I was the only one who didn't?") to the guest list ("We're not inviting Bertram, Teresa. I don't care if it seems rude and unprofessional; I see enough of him at work.")

Privately, he was starting to get a little concerned. After he proposed to Angela they were married within three months, (and expecting Charlotte by the fourth.) While not in such a hurry to rush down the aisle this time around, he'd feel a lot better if they could agree on just one thing without it turning into a fight.

Sometimes, when he was resting on his couch, pretending to sleep, he wondered if Teresa even wanted to get married at all, or if she'd just felt obliged to accept him in front of all those people at Castle's wedding. Maybe he'd jumped the gun when he proposed. They had only been dating for a year after all, which wasn't all that long in the grand scheme of things.

He'd thought long and hard about asking her to marry him. He got the idea of asking her at the wedding the day they received the invitation, but thinking about it and actually doing it…it was a big step. For weeks before they'd left for New York, he agonized over it, almost reverting back to his old insomnia problem as he wrestled with his dilemma.

It was the night before they left that made him sure.

It was seven thirty in the evening, and she was rushing around their bedroom, packing her suitcase in a frenzy. She'd wanted to do it earlier but she'd had to testify that day. He still remembered her flying around in her black court suit, panicking, and cursing him for not helping as he lay on the bed, watching her.

"Sweetheart," he said, as she blew past him for the third time. "Slow down."

"I think you're doing enough slowing down for the both of us!" she snapped. "You do nothing at work all day, aren't you rested enough by now?"

"We're not flying until tomorrow afternoon," he reminded her. "You don't have to do this right now."

"Yes I do."

"Why?"

She'd just pulled a pair of high heels that looked as if they'd never been worn out of the closet, and she turned to face him, one in each hand.

"I really not in the mood for one of your rambling philosophy lessons right now," she said. "I just want to get this done, and then I can relax."

"You can," he said. "But you won't."

"I will," she retorted.

"No you won't."

She raised the shoe in her left hand, threateningly. "Are you saying that I don't know how to relax?"

"I wouldn't dare," he said, with a grin. "I don't want to die from a stiletto to the head. Very embarrassing."

She threw it at him anyway, but he moved his head away so it hit the headboard of the bed with a thud. They both followed it with their eyes as it bounced off and landed on the floor.

"You really need to relax," he said, holding out his arms to her. "Come here."

The fight seemed to go out of her at these words, she dropped the shoe in her other hand, and crawled onto the bed next to him. He held her close, feeling her heartbeat start to slow and her breathing evening out.

"You must think I'm insane," she whispered, as she swung her leg over his waist and turned her face to his so she met his gaze.

He stroked her cheek. "I do."

"What?"

He chuckled at her outraged expression. "You settled for me."

She scowled at him. "I _chose_ you," she corrected him. "I_ love _you. But I hate it when you talk about yourself like that. Like you're nothing."

"It's how I feel," he shrugged.

"You're not nothing," she said, almost fiercely. "Anyone who's been through what you have and still manages to have any faith in humanity is certainly not nothing."

"I have no faith in humanity. I have faith in _you_."

She kissed him then, and he clung to her like a limpet, holding onto her like she was all he had left. Which of course, she was.

She pushed back a few unruly curls from his face. "I used to fantasize about doing this," she said, as her fingers gently grazed his skin. "Sometimes, while you were sleeping, I just wanted to reach out and find out what it felt like."

"I know exactly what you mean." He used to torture himself, wondering if her skin was really as soft and silky as it looked. There were times, especially when they were alone together in her office, that it almost became too much. It had taken all his self-control (and considerable amounts of biofeedback techniques) to keep himself from reaching for her.

Her fingers played with the buttons on his shirt.

"This is our future now," she said. "Just you and me, forever. Are you sure this is what you want?"

He kissed her in response.

That was when he'd become certain that he wanted her to be his wife.

"We're going to have to talk about it sometime," he ventured, now. "At least we need to try and a set a date."

"Not at work," she said. "We'll talk about it at home."

"Will we?"

Recently, they'd simply been avoiding the subject. On the upside, they spent less time arguing, but on the downside, nothing was resolved. For the first time in a long time, he had no idea what was going on inside her head. Was she just nervous about getting married, or seriously having second thoughts?

He knew she'd been engaged to someone else once, long before they'd met. That poor bastard had ended up with a bruised ego and a broken heart. He could only hope he wasn't going to suffer the same fate.

"Of course," she said, but he didn't really believe her. He knew the look in her eyes. She _was_ hiding something.

"Liar," he accused. "What's wrong?"

"I'd hate to tell the all-knowing Patrick Jane how to do his job."

Grace popped her head through the door, cringing at the raised voices.

"Boss?" she said to Lisbon. "Phone call for you. Line two."

"Thanks Grace. I'll take it in my office." She turned back to Jane. "We'll finish this at home."

She strode out the door with Van Pelt, and didn't look back

* * *

Castle reached for the next form in the twelve-inch high stack, with a groan. Kate reclined in her desk chair opposite him, as pleased with herself as the cat that got the cream.

He made a resolution. From this point on, he was never, _ever_ going to bet against his wife.

Victoria 'Iron' Gates came striding out of her office and directly to them. Castle immediately tried to appear immersed in the paperwork, to save having to speak to her. In the few months since she'd replaced Montgomery, the new Captain had never really warmed to him. She acknowledged his usefulness in cases, and she allowed him to remain at the 12th, but he could tell that they were never going to be friendly.

"Beckett."

"Sir."

A pause. "Castle."

He glanced up from the page. "Captain Gates."

"Good work on the Stagg case," she said. "An excellent result. I trust the paperwork will be filed this afternoon?"

"I'm not sure, sir," said Kate, trying not to laugh. "You'll have to ask my new assistant."

Gates spared Castle a split-second glance. "Do I want to know?" she asked Kate.

"Probably not."

"I see. Anyway, there's another reason I wanted to talk to you two. The city is throwing a big fundraiser for the NYPD in a week's time. We've been asked to choose one team from each precinct to attend. I'm sending you."

Kate groaned. "Why?"

"I'd rather not send you guys either," said Gates, bluntly. "But seeing as your husband-" she threw a dirty look at Castle "-seems to have styled himself as the new poster boy for the 12th, the mayor insisted he be there. You might as well all go. Make a night of it."

"Thanks, but no thanks," Castle said. "Send the mayor my apologies."

"I'm sorry, what part of that order sounded like a request? As you so aptly proved Castle, when you forced your way back into this precinct, when the mayor says 'jump' _we_ say 'how high?' Am I making myself clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good." She handed Kate a sheaf of tickets. "There are a couple of spares in here. Invite some of your filthy rich writer friends, and tell them to bring their chequebooks." She turned on her heel and stalked off.

Castle scowled after her. "I really don't like her."

"Keep being nice to her," said Kate bracingly, risking a quick kiss on his cheek. "You don't want to give her an excuse to kick you out again."

He inspected one of the tickets. "Ugh, another stupid charity event. These things are always so _boring_. And I'm supposed to invite people? Don't they have party planners for that?"

"There must be someone you can ask," said Kate. "Even just one person, to get Gates off your back."

Castle pondered this for a while, as Kate continued to trawl through the paperwork, until suddenly, he slammed his fist triumphantly onto the table, surprising her so much that she punched a hole in the paper.

"What was that for?" she demanded.

"I've got it!" he crowed. "Who do we know who always livens up a party, and has cash to burn?"

"You."

"Other than me."

"Your mom."

He rolled his eyes. "Seriously?"

"Well, who then?" she asked, starting to get irritated. Castle dialled a number on his cell phone. He smiled as the line connected.

"Patrick Jane? Rick Castle here. I know it's been a while since we caught up, but how would you feel about crashing a party?"

* * *

**A/N: I'm really not sure how I feel about this story. Was it OOC? Did it even make sense? I'd like to hear your thoughts. **


	2. Chapter 2

**I wouldn't blame anybody if they decided not to read this, just because I made you all wait so long. The writer's block I've had for this fic has been nothing short of incredible. But for those who still want to, at long last, chapter 2 of 'Scratched.'**

**I own nothing. Rating is T for mentions of adult situations.**

* * *

"Let me get this straight," Lisbon folded her arms and shifted herself closer to her desk. "You want me to go to Bertram and tell him I'm going to drop everything, including an open case, and come to New York with you, to attend a party. What in God's name would make me do that?"

Jane shook his head, ruefully. Teresa was brave, intelligent and tough as they came, but she had next to no imagination. The idea of a trip to New York and a glittering society event would be nothing short of thrilling to most people. Not his fiancée. Spontaneity was not her strong point. She liked rules and structure, and knowing exactly what she'd be doing on any given day. She liked to make plans and stick to them. She called it 'being organised.' He called it 'control freak.'

"Where's your sense of adventure?" he said, as she regarded him doubtfully. "It'll be good for you to get out of the office. And we haven't seen Castle and Beckett in months."

He and Castle had kept in touch since the wedding, sending emails every few weeks, sometimes to ask for each other's input on a tricky case, and sometimes just to chat. Outside his CBI team, Castle was the only true friend Jane possessed. He'd never quite forgiven Walter Mashburn for his one-night stand with Teresa, and as for Kristina Frye…she had gone somewhere that nobody could reach.

"It's not that I don't want to," she said. "I just can't. I have work to do."

"For the last two months you've done nothing _but_ work," he pointed out. "You're here till almost midnight every second day, and even when you do come home, I know you don't eat or sleep properly."

Most nights, he felt her tossing and turning beside him for hours, before finally falling into a doze out of sheer exhaustion, and rarely did he ever see her eat a meal of any substance, unless it was something he himself had cooked, put down in front of her and insisted that she eat. He wished she would at least attempt to take better care of herself, rather than trying to get by on coffee, and the odd sandwich or piece of fruit.

"You haven't had a good night's sleep all week," he said.

"Yes, well, at least three of those nights were your fault."

"My_ fault_? I didn't hear you complaining at the time. In fact, if memory serves, all I heard from you on all three of those nights was a whole lot of m-"

"Shut up!" she interjected, reddening by the second. "People could hear you."

"Imagine that," he said, dryly. "People finding out that we, a couple, spend our nights doing things that couples do. You're right, I don't think they could handle the shock."

"You know that thing you do where you act like you're superior to me? It really pisses me off!" she snapped.

"And you know that thing _you_ do when you sit there and deny the truth when it's staring you in the face? That really pisses_ me_ off," he retorted.

"That truth being what?" she asked. "That I'm engaged to an arrogant, self-absorbed prick with a moral conscience that could fit on the head of a pin?"

"Or maybe that_ I'm_ engaged to a control-freak workaholic with anger-management issues?"

"Oh really?" she said angrily. "Well that's something we can easily fix. You can go to hell, I'm not marrying you anymore." She made to wrench the ring off her finger, glaring at him defiantly.

He rolled his eyes. Threatening to call the wedding off was becoming a favourite tactic of hers; this was the third such incident in a week. It might be slightly more effective, however, if she were able to make him believe for one moment that she actually meant it.

"You know, the first step to solving a problem is admitting you have one," he said, loftily.

"I do not have anger management issues!" To emphasize the point she slammed her fist down hard onto the desk.

He raised an eyebrow, and she shot him her best 'don't you dare' look. But of course, he couldn't resist. He didn't get to where he was in life by being cowed by a mere look.

"They sent you to classes. Obviously, they didn't work…"

"I only went to cover your ass. Next time, I won't bother. Bertram can deal with you!"

An empty threat if he ever heard one. She, who had defended him so fiercely for all this time, would never make him fend for himself. Privately, he'd come to the conclusion that the CBI Director was just a little intimidated by her. And well he might be. You didn't argue with a woman who carried two guns on her person at all times. "You don't mean that."

"Try me."

She got up from the chair and marched around the desk to stand in front of him, arms folded. Green eyes flashed with fury and her mouth twisted into a scowl. She reminded him of a jungle cat poised to spring at the slightest provocation. Some people found the many moods of Teresa Lisbon difficult to handle, but he thrived on the feeling of never knowing what might come next. Her moods could be erratic, she could be hotheaded and stubborn, but he loved that fiery temper just as much as the pure heart and vulnerability it masked. There were so many facets to her personality; a day with her was never boring.

"Come on," he said, in wheedling tones. "Cho and the others can finish up our case. A few days in New York, it'll be great."

"Bertram will never go for it. What makes you think he'll even let us go?"

"Oh, I have my ways," he said, confidently. "Follow me."

* * *

"Sounds like a great idea."

Lisbon's jaw dropped in a most ungainly fashion, not daring to believe what she had just heard. She'd followed Jane into Bertram's office, expecting to see him get tossed out on his ass in one sentence. Instead, the director had not only listened to her partner's ludicrous idea, he had agreed to it. Jane turned to smile triumphantly at her as she privately wondered if the world had gone mad.

"You seem surprised, Lisbon," Bertram remarked, with a chuckle. This freaked her out even more. She had never known her superior to do anything as human as laugh, or even smile. She'd only ever seen him as a puppet for the bureaucrats, and a constant thorn in her side. Of course, Jane had once been that proverbial thorn, and then she'd wound up engaged to him. Did that mean she and Bertram were going to start hanging out after work and going for drinks on Friday nights, now? Inwardly, she cringed.

"The NYPD is known worldwide as a premier crime-fighting force," Bertram explained. "If the CBI can form a professional relationship with them, it can only be to our benefit. Besides, it'll be a perfect PR exercise for us, too."

"How so? Sir?" she said, tacking on the title at the last moment.

"You know, schmooze the bigwigs, talk up the CBI and what we do, and maybe a few them will throw some of their millions our way."

"Well, send someone else," she retorted, stubbornly. "I bet half the bureau would kill for a free trip to New York."

"Probably," he agreed. "But none of them can keep a handle on Jane. My personal opinion of Mr Jane notwithstanding-"he threw a dirty look at her consultant, who chuckled "-when it comes to PR, he's both our biggest asset and our biggest liability. He has to go, and someone's going to have to keep him in line."

"But-"

"Put it this way, Agent," he said firmly. "You'll go to New York, you'll attend the fundraiser, and then you'll come back to work. That's an order."

"And Agent Lisbon never disobeys a direct order," chimed in Jane, most unhelpfully. She glared at him. Bastard.

She saw no way to get out of this. She never thought she'd see the day Jane and Bertram would team up, and particularly against her. Jane was smiling like the Cheshire cat as he watched her trying to find some kind of loophole, and Bertram had an air of satisfaction about him, as though he'd just proven some contentious point beyond all refute. She'd like to punch them both. Instead, she settled for an irritated sigh, and reluctantly agreed.

"Yes, sir," she mumbled, hating them both. She left the Director's office, seething.

"I really don't see why you're making such a big deal of this," said Jane, speeding up to walk with her. "We're going to a party. It'll be fun."

"It's not the party I'm mad about," she said, angrily. "It's you!"

"Oh yes?" he said, mildly.

"Is this what it's going to be like after we're married?" she demanded. "Every time I say or do something you don't like, you're going to find a way to force me into it?"

"Teresa, you're taking this way out of proportion. You need a break, and this is a great opportunity."

She lowered her voice to a whisper as they entered the bullpen and people looked up. "You don't get to go around dictating what I do with my life. Who do you think you are?"

"Patrick Jane," he answered, promptly. "Mentalist, crime-solving extraordinaire and a rather snappy dresser." He gestured at today's three-piece suit. "And most importantly, I'm the man that loves you, Teresa," he said, airily. "And would like to see you not go to an early grave from overwork and stress."

"Oh, now you care about my stress levels?"

He rolled his eyes. "I can see that you're determined to be mad at me about this. When you're ready to discuss this like adults, I'll be on my couch." He trotted off across the bullpen.

There was a heavy-looking stapler sitting invitingly on someone's desk, just inches away. Oh, how she would like to pick it up and throw it at that obnoxious head of blonde curls.

But that would be childish, and she wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of thinking he'd got to her. No way was Jane going to come out of this looking like the mature one in their relationship.

Hell would freeze over first.

* * *

Castle eyes roamed dispiritedly over a closetful of neatly pressed suits. There was nothing particularly exciting about any of them. He selected one at random and pulled it from its hanger, barely glancing at it. It was no doubt just as adequate for the occasion as any of the other zillion suits on the rack. Besides, at most of these kind of events, nobody gave a crap what he wore, as long as he turned up with his wallet, took a few shots for the society pages, and threw a grand or two at whatever it was they were raising funds for this week.

This time however, he'd be expected to kiss up to all the benefactors and 'earn his keep' as Captain Gates had so succinctly put it. He'd play his part, but to be honest, he really couldn't drum up all that much enthusiasm about the whole affair. Yes, it was due in no small part to the NYPD that he had several bestsellers and his beautiful wife to his name, but to be fair, he also solved them a lot of cases. Wasn't that enough?

Kate, stunning in a deep red strapless gown, swiped on a last coat of mascara.

"What do you think?" she asked. "Do I look OK?"

"Perfect," he answered, pulling a tie from a drawer. "Like always."

She put down the mascara wand, and rolled her eyes. "What, have you sprouted eyes in the back of your head now? You didn't even look."

He shook his head in amusement. As far as he was concerned, he could be standing in a room packed with supermodels and she'd still be the most beautiful thing in it.

"Kate, please," he said. "You could turn up in a garbage bag to this thing and still blow them all out of the water."

She smiled, but he didn't see as he put the tie around his neck and attempted to fasten it. After thirty seconds, he made a small noise of irritation and threw it onto the bed.

"Stupid thing must be broken."

She sighed, and retrieved the tie from the bed. "Sure, it's the tie's fault that you have no hand-eye coordination, and even less patience."

"It is," he insisted, but allowed her to put it back around his neck and begin twisting and threading it.

"Tell you what," she said. "For your next birthday I'll buy you a clip-on one." She gave the tie a final, sharp tug into position, and reached up to smooth his shirt collar over it.

"Thank you," he said.

"Anytime," she said, planting a quick kiss on his lips. "Come on, we'll be late."

"Do we really have to do this?" he whined.

"Just think about what Gates will do to you if we don't turn up, and you'll probably be able to answer your own question."

He cringed. "Good point."

For all his whining and carrying on, she knew full well that once they got to the party he would enjoy himself. It was always the same. They'd walk into the room, and he'd be besieged with friends, acquaintances, and fans, as well as all the people who were simply drawn to his natural charisma. He'd been born for events like these.

She was not. Growing up, she and her parents had always been comfortable financially, but they'd never been this kind of rich. The in your face, crystal chandelier, second-home-in-the-Hamptons kind. It had taken some getting used to. To be able to buy a dress on an impulse and not have to spend her next two month's salary paying it off. Not that she was about to give up work and become an Upper East Side fashion victim anytime soon, but knowing that she _could_ do it if she wanted to, was a kind of power that was both exciting, and slightly unnerving. She imagined that this was how Rick must have felt when he got that first big royalty cheque.

They took a hired limousine to the venue the NYPD had chosen for the event. Kate would have preferred to take a cab, but Captain Gates had insisted that Castle, the 12th's biggest, most recognisable drawcard, should arrive in style. As they glided to a stop in front of a dense crowd of photographers, pushing and jostling for position, Kate blew out a nervous sigh. She was slowly getting used to the onslaught of media that awaited she and her husband wherever they went, but it was still slightly bewildering to her why anyone would want to put pictures of her in the paper. She would much prefer to be recognised and respected for her work, rather than the fact that she had just so happened to marry a celebrity.

She heard the assembled media draw its collective breath as they emerged from the car, before the blinding flashes began, and questions fired at them from all directions. With the practiced air of a seasoned professional, Rick looped his arms through hers and guided her through the sea of journalists, pausing every now and then to allow them to snap a few pictures, or make a clever quip that had them all chuckling appreciatively and typing it into cell phones, no doubt to be reprinted in a hundred different gossip magazines tomorrow.

Kate had learned early that the best way to survive the media horde was to watch her step, not look directly into the camera flashbulbs, to keep smiling, and above all, let her husband take the lead. This was his element.

And after all, she took charge everywhere else in their relationship (the bedroom included) so she really needed to let him have _something._

When they'd finally made it into the building, and been handed flutes of champagne by a waiter clad in a slick white uniform, she felt something inside of her slowly beginning to uncoil. The worst part of the evening was over. A few feet away, she spotted two familiar faces and she and Castle made towards them. Ryan and Esposito, having a quiet argument over who should get the last piece of smoked salmon snatched from a passing waiter, didn't acknowledge them right away. It was only when Ryan snatched the appetiser from the hand of a slightly shocked Esposito and put it in his mouth that he turned to his two other friends.

"Hey guys," he greeted them, through a mouth full of salmon, as Esposito glared at him. "We heard all the commotion outside, and thought someone important might be arriving…but I guess not."

Esposito smirked at Castle's mildly affronted expression. Kate squeezed her husband's hand supportively, but had to bite her lip to keep from smiling too.

"Well, we can't all be as popular as the great Detective Kevin Ryan," said Castle coolly. "Let me know when your exclusive interview comes out in the 12th's monthly newsletter; I'll have my marker ready."

"I wouldn't hold your breath, bro," said Esposito to Castle as his partner swallowed the salmon. "The closest he's ever got to fame was when the back of his head got shown on America's Most Wanted once."

"It was no big deal," said Ryan, modestly.

"Dude, you made me TiVo it," scoffed Esposito. "And I'm still not even sure it was you."

As the partners launched into another round of good-natured ribbing, Castle took Kate by the elbow and lead her away towards the bar. Karpowski, nursing an apple martini, lifted her glass to them in greeting. By her shaky hands and faraway expression, Castle surmised that the cocktail was not her first for the evening.

As Kate greeted her friend, Castle took the opportunity to scan the other partygoers, an activity that came to an abrupt halt as he met the gaze of Captain Gates, wearing a simple black evening dress, and a frown. She cast an appraising eye over Castle, looking him up and down carefully, before giving a brisk nod, and abruptly turning away. He breathed a sigh of relief. Captain Gates was certainly one tough customer, but maybe the alcohol and merriment might mellow her out a little tonight.

Stranger things had happened.

* * *

"Admit it. Aren't you glad I talked you into this?"

In a hotel room across town, Lisbon started a little as Jane's voice suddenly whispered in her ear, and his arms wrapped around her waist. She'd been standing by the window, watching in fascination as the city had gradually lit up around her, and hadn't even heard him approach.

She could tell he'd just stepped out of the shower, he smelled of shampoo and aftershave, and when she leaned back against him, she felt the slight dampness still about his skin seep into her clothes.

"You smell good," she said, instantly recognising the distinctive scent of the aftershave she herself had bought for him for Christmas last year. She'd picked it because it reminded her of him, crisp and elegant. And unashamedly seductive.

"So do you," he said, inhaling deeply. "You always do."

"Even after being stuck on a plane for six hours?" she complained.

"Even then."

"I suppose this trip was one of your better ideas," she admitted. After the conversation with Bertram, it had taken her a day or two to come around to the idea, (and Jane had been in her bad books for a week afterwards) but being a good, obedient agent, she had finally relented, not that she'd ever had much choice.

She felt his lips brush against her shoulderblade, and his arms tighten around her, as the street below bustled with traffic. They were hardly roughing it, she had to concede. She'd certainly stayed in many rooms nowhere near as nice as this one, and as for the company, she thought idly, as his hands began to wander, it had certainly improved.

"Patrick…" she said warningly, but he took no notice, planting firm kisses across her shoulder and down her neck, pausing for almost a full minute on one spot in particular, which he'd learned from experience she'd never been able to resist. True to form, she felt her resolve weakening before long; little by little until she eventually stopped protesting altogether and started making little sighs and gasps of pleasure instead.

"I have to get ready," she said, with soft moan. "I haven't even taken a shower yet."

"I told you, you could have just come in with me," he said, feeling for, and then releasing one of her shirt buttons. "We probably would have been done by now." The double meaning of his words seemed to hang in the air between them, and she felt justified in her refusal to join him earlier.

"_You_ might have been," she couldn't resist teasing him. "Old man."

"Are you somehow implying that I'm not fully satisfying you?" he asked, with a disbelieving little smirk. "Because I have to say my dear, I take offense to that."

He eased open another button, and felt the lace of her bra skim his fingertips, distracting her with yet more kisses. Clearly, her fiancé was in an amorous kind of mood, and if only they weren't due at the party in half an hour, she'd have happily indulged his desire.

"We'll be late," she admonished him, gently.

"Who cares, when my fiancée is questioning my very manhood?" he asked, and gave her hand a gentle tug. "Let me show you right now, that I am all the man you need."

A third button came free, and her blouse began to slide off her shoulders, helped by Jane, who then turned his attention to the clasp of her bra.

"It's the whole reason we came in the first place," she reminded him, and stepped away from him before he got her disrobed completely. "We have to go."

"Let's not and say we did," he said, and she laughed.

"You promised you'd go," she said. " Castle's your friend. And last time I checked, you didn't have too many of those."

He leaned forward and kissed the top of her head, fondly. "I hate it when you're so reasonable. I never get to have any fun."

She looked him up and down. A towel slung low over his hips, those arms practically begging her to throw herself into them, and that wicked gleam in his eyes that seemed to make her whole body sizzle with delight. Temptation on two legs. Hers for the taking. She would have thought some of the novelty of their relationship would have worn off by now, but they were approaching nearly two full years together and yet he still got her as hot and bothered as he always had. She was just better at controlling it now.

After all, when they'd first got together there had been about eight years worth of unresolved sexual tension to get out of their systems, and she was ashamed to admit that they'd probably been no better than teenagers in those early months. There were never any rendezvous at the office (she'd insisted upon that) but there were covetous looks, and innuendo and occasionally wandering hands enough to have whipped them both into a frenzy by the time they made it home, tearing each other's clothes off the moment the door shut behind them, unable to wait a second longer. Most of the time, they hadn't even made it to the bedroom, opting for the couch, the shower, or even the floor.

She remembered fondly those wonderful, passion-fuelled months, when she'd honestly felt that she could never get enough of him. His touch set her skin on fire, his kisses made her breathless and any moment he was not making love to her was a moment wasted. After years of holding back, it was like someone had finally given her permission to do all the delicious things to him she'd only ever dreamed of.

Things had settled down eventually, when they'd burned off at least some of that white-hot lust, which was a relief; two months on a diet of practically nothing but coffee and sex wasn't exactly doing wonders for her energy levels. These days, their desire for each other was more of a constant slow burn then sudden bursts of desperate need, but that didn't make it any less satisfying. Making love to a man who could predict her every desire before she even knew it herself definitely had it's privileges.

"Tease," he complained. "You can't stand there mentally undressing me with that 'come hither' look in your eyes and just expect me not to do anything about it."

"Sure I can," she said, and, just for fun, pressed herself against him for a moment, making him groan.

"Watch yourself, Agent Lisbon," he said, in a low purring kind of voice, like velvet. "Keep this up and I may not be responsible for my actions."

"I said, go get dressed," she said, drawing close to him so it would take only a tiny movement for their lips to meet. "And we'll continue this conversation when we get back."

His eyes flicked from her face, to the luxurious-looking bed behind them, as though weighing up whether just to drag her over to it, and make them very late for the party indeed, and then sighed.

"Fine," he said. "But not because you said so, because I want to. Someday you're going to be the death of me, woman," he remarked.

"I can only hope."

* * *

"If you love me at all, you'll shoot me now," Castle hissed through clenched teeth at his wife, who was finishing off the last of her drink. "You must have a gun on you somewhere."

"Of course," she said, smiling in thanks at the waiter who appeared within moments to replenish her empty glass.

"Really?" Castle glanced doubtfully at her figure-hugging gown. "Where?" he asked.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"You have no idea how much." He winked at her, and then blew out an impatient sigh. "How long until this thing is over?"

"Yes, I'm sure this must be terrible for you," she remarked dryly. "A big glitzy party full of people adoring you and praising your brilliance and talent. Rick, you are the definition of a first-world problem."

"I suppose that's your way of telling me to suck it up?" he asked.

"Bingo. They weren't kidding when they said you were perceptive."

She smiled mischievously at him, and if they weren't in a roomful of people, he'd grab her right now and kiss her senseless. Women as gorgeous as Kate weren't supposed to be funny and smart too; it just wasn't fair. How were men like him ever supposed to win?

He didn't fall in love with her the moment he saw her; but he sure as hell fell in lust. The love part came later, a few cases down the track when he finally ascertained that yes, she actually was as perfect as she seemed, witty, and kind, and just as brilliant as she was sexy as hell.

He never stood a chance. No man could. But somehow, he'd won her, and he was one lucky bastard.

A young woman sidled up to them at that point and haltingly introduced herself to him claiming to be "totally his number one fan." Kate watched as her husband effortlessly switched into fan mode, pasting on a charming grin and complimenting the woman, who quickly fell under his spell, fanning herself with a napkin.

"It's always an honour to meet a fan," said Castle, in farewell, "Best of luck to you, Elsa."

"They really love you, you know," said Kate, as Elsa sidled off into the crush of people. "All your fans and your readers."

"And I'm grateful for each and every one of them," he said. "But she was wrong about one thing. She's not my number one fan."

"And who would that be then?" she asked.

"Me, of course," said Castle, without embarrassment. "Only Richard Castle truly knows how to idolise Richard Castle."

Kate rolled her eyes. "You're right. I don't think it's humanly possible for anyone to love you as much as you love yourself."

"Honey, that was cruel," he said, conversationally.

"Cruel but fair," she pointed out. He toasted her with his champagne in acknowledgement.

He glanced down at his watch. Jane really should have been here by now. The CBI consultant had emailed last week to say that he and Lisbon would be attending the fundraiser, but he hadn't heard from him since. Having received no word of a new case or some other reason to prevent them from being here, Castle assumed they were still coming, and he was eager for them to arrive. He and Jane were as close as friends could be that resided in cities on opposite ends of the country and had unpredictable work schedules, but had not seen each other since his wedding to Kate. It would be good to catch up with Jane again. He'd promised to make a donation to the NYPD, and Castle couldn't wait to introduce him to Captain Gates, just to see what she'd make of him.

As though she'd somehow heard his thoughts, the Captain appeared at his side as if by magic.

"You need to start doing a little less boozing and a lot more schmoozing Castle, if you expect to walk into my precinct tomorrow," she hissed under her breath. "You keep telling me how useful you are to us, so go ahead and prove it."

At that moment a familiar voice spoke up behind him. "Hey Castle."

As usual, Patrick Jane's timing was impeccable. Dressed in a tuxedo, and with his arm threaded through that of an amused-looking Teresa Lisbon, he strode across the dance floor towards the trio.

"Jane, Lisbon, glad you could make it," Castle greeted them, shaking hands with the former and embracing Lisbon warmly.

"Meh," said Jane, waving his hand dismissively. "The case can wait another day or two. Dead guy's not going to get any deader."

"Jane!" Lisbon chided him at once, Kate and Castle both snickered and Captain Gates' eyebrows disappeared into her hairline for a moment as she looked at him incredulously.

"Anyway," he went on, ignoring his fiancée s glare. "The other three can hold the fort until we get back. Detective Beckett," he said, turning his attention to Kate. "You look stunning this evening." He bent to kiss her hand, causing her to snort with laughter in a most unladylike manner.

"You're an ass," she said, but condescended to give him a quick hug hello.

"You know, it just doesn't seem right to hear profanities come out of the mouth of a beautiful woman like you," he said, with a cheeky wink, and Kate shook her head in disbelief.

"Knock it off, Don Juan," said Lisbon testily, as she stiffly shook Kate's hand. "How are you, Detective Beckett?" she enquired.

"Well, thank you, Lisbon," she answered, equally formally. Kate and Teresa hadn't exactly hit it off when they'd first met, and even now, despite the strong friendship between their respective partners, they'd never fully warmed to each other.

Jane and Castle exchanged amused glances at the sight of the two women regarding each other with apprehension. "Come on, ladies, lighten up," said Castle. "It's supposed to be a party."

The two women turned in unison to look at him witheringly, so he changed the subject.

"And this," said Castle, gesturing to Captain Gates, who had been watching it all with an unreadable expression on her face, "is our new boss, Captain Victoria Gates."

At the mention of her name, Jane's eyes seem to light up with interest. Castle had described the new commander in chief to him in detail over the last few months, through a series of indignant and irritable emails, and he could tell that Jane had been itching to meet her. The consultant turned to her, and extended his hand.

"Patrick Jane," he said, with a dazzling smile as she suspiciously put her hand out too for him to shake. "It's a pleasure, Captain Gates. Your reputation precedes you."

The woman tilted her head upwards at this comment and Castle saw the tiniest flash of pride flicker across her face.

"Nice to meet you," she said.

"I was reading a piece in the Ledger this morning that said since you took charge of the 12th precinct, the number of successful arrests has risen by 17%," Jane said. "That's a substantial figure."

"All down to the hard work of my detectives," said Gates, but Castle could see that she was pleased. Her eyes had lost a little of their steely glare, and her mouth twitched a little.

"Of course," Jane agreed. "But without a good leader, where would they be?"

Castle took a hasty sip of his drink to keep from chuckling as the stoic Captain Gates softened under Jane's well-placed flattery, and even smiled at him.

"Are you in law enforcement, Mr Jane?" she asked.

"I'm a consultant with the California Bureau of Investigation," he said. "Agent Lisbon here is my boss." He nodded to Lisbon who shook hands with Gates too.

"I should keep moving," said the Captain, in Castle's opinion, somewhat reluctantly.

"Of course," said Jane, affably. "I'm sure you have a lot to do, and I won't detain you a moment longer." He reached for her hand again, and they shook one more time, his hand lingering just a fraction of a second too long. "It was a privilege to meet you, Captain Gates."

"Could you have laid that on any thicker?" asked Lisbon, scathingly as the captain moved away, looking slightly dazed. "I'm actually embarrassed for you."

"She wasn't that icy," Jane said to Castle, ignoring her.

"Dude, you have got to tell me how you did that," said Castle in wonderment, the second she was out of earshot. "I've been trying to get her to warm up to me for months."

"Same as any woman," said Jane, under his breath. "You just have to know which buttons to push."

"I heard that," said Lisbon, folding her arms. "And you just pushed the button I like to call 'sleeping on the couch.'"

"Whatever you say, dear," he said, easily. "But I have a feeling you'll change your mind about that sooner rather than later." He aimed his sexiest, most seductive smile at her, and smirked as she determinedly glared right back at him, like it was a point of pride for her not to weaken. He surveyed her slowly, up and down. The dress she was wearing, a jade green number, was just screaming for him to peel it off of her, those lips begging to be kissed.

She blushed, and he wondered if she knew his thoughts.

"Come on, Beckett," she said, unexpectedly. "Let's go grab another drink. Leave the boys to catch up."

The detective looked surprised, but agreed, and their dresses made soft swishing sounds as they turned on their heels and headed back for the bar. Jane smiled. Even in a floor-length gown and high heels, she still marched like a drill sergeant.

"In the doghouse again, eh Jane?" asked Castle wryly, as the two women departed.

"She's a tough to please, but by God, I love her," he said. "Wouldn't change her if I could."

"Hear, hear," Castle agreed. "How are the wedding plans going?" He was surprised to see the smile disappear from his friend's face.

"They're not," Jane confessed. "In fact, it's a bit of a taboo subject between us right now, so do me a favour and don't mention it to her."

He was grateful that Castle decided not to ask any more questions, and instead launched into an account of his daughter's first day at college a few weeks previously. But while he took care to nod, and laugh at all the right moments, Jane found he couldn't quite give Castle his full attention.

* * *

A light tap on her shoulder made Lisbon turn away from the bar, clutching a fresh flute of champagne. She was nothing short of stunned to find herself nose to nose with Walter Mashburn, notorious billionaire and her former lover. He was looking her over appreciatively, as she hastily tried to pull herself together.

"Walter," she managed to choke out.

"Teresa," he said. "It's wonderful to see you." As his eyes raked over her once more, lingering on the sweetheart neckline of her gown, she couldn't shake the unsettling thought that this man had seen her naked. She had mixed feelings about the night they'd spent together. They'd had fun, but even though she and Jane had never actually discussed it, she was sure he knew about it, and had been hurt. She wondered if it would make any difference if she told him she'd done it because she'd thought she'd never have _him_, and Mashburn was as close a substitute as she thought she was likely to find.

"You too," she said, awkwardly.

"I just happened to be in town on business, when I heard about this," he said. "But you're a long way from California, Teresa. What brings you here?"

She nodded towards the other side of the room, where Jane was still deep in conversation with Castle. "Babysitting," she said. "The boss sent Jane to woo the benefactors, and me to keep an eye on him."

Mashburn gave a small snort of laughter. "Still raising hell, is he?" he asked.

"Every day."

"I would expect no less from the man who purposely trashed my quarter million dollar car on a hunch," he said, casually, and she winced at the memory of receiving that awful phone call from Cho.

"I am sorry about that," she said, but he waved the apology away as though it were an insect.

"He was right, the colour _was_ awful," he said. "And he lived up to his word and got me another. We're square." He took a long pull from his beer. "On a more serious note, is there anything else you'd like to tell me?" She noticed with a sinking heart that Mashburn's gaze was zeroing in on her left hand, having clocked her engagement ring gleaming there. "Who's the lucky guy?"

With a sigh, she jerked her head towards Jane again, now shaking hands with a man she recognised as the mayor of New York City. She only wished she could be as sure of herself as he seemed to be, as he engaged the mayor in jovial conversation as though the two were old friends. "We got engaged last summer," she said. "We've been together almost two years."

If Mashburn was surprised by this revelation, he didn't let on. Instead, he let out a small chuckle, and shook his head.

"I can't pretend I'm not a little disappointed," he said, openly suggestive. "I always hoped you and I might have a shot…or at least a round two. But it was high time that consultant of yours got his head out of his own ass and woke up to what he had in front of him." He touched her hand. "Remember though, if the time ever comes when he isn't treating you right, just say the word, and I'll be more than happy to pick up the slack."

"Thanks, but no thanks," she said, forcing a laugh, even while her skin crawled at his offer. "Patrick's a handful, but I've put up with him this long. I think I'll keep him."

"In that case, I wish you both the best of luck. Marriage never quite worked out for me, but that doesn't mean it'll be the same for you. However-" his voice lowered to a whisper, and he leaned in close to her so his warm breath tickled her skin, "-if you ever change your mind about him, look me up." He slipped a business card into her hand, she felt her fingers close automatically around it, and he swept away.

Why had he done that? Did he somehow know that she'd been having reservations about the wedding? Had he seen something she hadn't? She loved Jane with all her heart and soul, but first with the constant friction between them about the wedding, and now the reappearance of Mashburn in her life, it almost felt like the universe was trying to tell her something.

No. She put the idea firmly to the back of her mind. Ever since the first time they'd kissed, being with Jane had simply felt right. She'd never been happier, or loved any other person even half as deeply, and when he held her, or made love to her, there could be no sweeter moment of clarity that this was where she was supposed to be. Cosmic signals from the universe be damned; she wasn't going to give him up, now or ever. Her mind might be a mess right now, but she knew that much.

Within an instant, Beckett was at her side.

"Who was that?" she demanded to know.

"A mistake," said Lisbon, softly. "A bad one. We slept together," she went on, at Kate's questioning look. "Just once, before Jane and I were dating. I haven't seen him since."

"Does Jane know?" asked Kate.

"Yes. But we've never talked about it," she confessed. "They're friends…well, sort of. I don't want them to lose that."

"A friend that hits on his fiancée is the kind of friend Jane could do without," Castle pointed out, as he joined them, putting an arm around Kate's waist and giving her a soft kiss on the lips. "That guy was looking at you like you were lunch, Lisbon," he said. "I'd watch your step."

"You're not going to call him, are you?" asked Kate, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course not," she snapped. "Why would I?"

"The fear of the unknown," said Castle, again displaying his uncanny knack for nailing a problem right on the head. "Fear makes things complicated."

"I'm not afraid," said Lisbon, not sure if she was trying to convince Castle and Beckett, or herself. "I know what I want."

And she crumpled up the business card and shoved it roughly into her purse.

* * *

**I hope you found this chapter enjoyable. It took me forever to get it right. :)**


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